


Ghosts and Ghouls and Troubled Souls

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Ghosts, Haunting, Humor, JohnLock Hotness, M/M, Smut, halloween fic, heavy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-08 04:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: "He said he wants me to complete the job he couldn’t.”“Good Lord, what would that be?”“Blackmail that person and extort money from them.”





	1. The Haunting

“I wanted to tell you something.”

John looked up, part surprise and part relief washing over him.

To say that he was disturbed was an understatement. For weeks Sherlock had been evasive about speaking his mind, for weeks he seemed preoccupied, for weeks had had been acting clingy and was way too quiet. He almost seemed like a doppelganger of the great detective. But despite several sincere attempts John hadn’t been able to coax an answer out of his lover/partner/colleague Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock would either stay infuriatingly silent when asked what the matter was or get up and walk away or switch subjects with such alarming insistence than John was all the more convinced something was being kept from him. That was something Sherlock never did, _keep him in the dark_, at least in the past few years since they became an item.

“Finally,” he said, “Go on then.”

“I see him.”

“Whom?”

“Magnussen.”

“Mag…what? Charles Augustus Magnussen?”

“The same.”

“Look Sherl, I am not in the mood for jokes. You don’t wanna share, then _don’t_. But please do not pretend to share and insult my intelligence by stating something completely ridiculous. Are you trying to tell me the master blackmailer, the slimy villain, that Magnussen, whom you shot dead five and half years ago, has returned from the dead to haunt and torment you???”

“Um….yes, that’s exactly what it is!!”

John sighed, “Come on, let’s have sex.”

Sherlock licked his lips, “I don’t see how this is related but I am not saying no to sex. It has been very long since the last time.”

John rolled his eyes but nipped at Sherlock’s ear, “How long _exactly_ since early morning today when you woke me with your morning wood and we had a quickie. Oh no, don’t tell me you were asleep through it all and don’t remember it at all?”

Sherlock had the decency to blush. He didn’t say anything but when he got up from his chair and opened his bottle green robe, one John had gifted him a month before, and revealed himself in the buff, John was not in the mood for words anymore. No underclothes, his lover was bare naked as a babe.

He slung Sherlock over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him to the bedroom, cock so very hard he knew _once_ was _not_ going to make the cut.

***

The sheets on the bed rustled, punctuated by soft moans and occasional hisses. The bed creaked softly, the head board tapped the wall twice or thrice, the items in the nightstand rattled. The two men, lying on the mattress and sheets in a passionate clinch, were close to spilling their release. There were moments like this when John felt like he was the luckiest, most powerful man on earth. Let the Trumps and Putins and Merkels have their government and power, let Leo DiCaprio get a second Oscar, let Roger Federer win Grand Slam titles till his teeth fell off, let Jeff Bezos of Amazon pile on more billions in his account, he was way better off than all of them. Unlike those unfortunate souls, he had _Sherlock Holmes in his arms_, his bed and begging for him to make him cum hard.

“Puh-leez…Jawwwn,” Sherlock’s long flowing body undulated and trembled, his long legs spread wide for John.

“Hmmm?” John pretended to not hear it properly and continued to kiss, nip, suck and lick Sherlock all over. Occasionally he touched the hard cock and heavy balls, ghost touches that made the detective shudder and moan loud in anticipation, only to whine in frustration when John kissed between his thighs and the creases of his groin, but avoided the ass and the cock. He sniffed at the handsome man’s musky scent, tempered by a sweeter fragrance of his soap, and nuzzled the downy thatch of hairs, licking around the twin jewels before sucking them into his mouth.

“FUCK,” Sherlock’s hips jerked up so hard that one of his jutting hipbones caught John painfully on the bridge of his nose. The good doctor drew back, grinned and _resumed _the teasing. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sherlock cursed unabashedly, turning his head from side to side.

Finally John took pity on him and started to suck the head of the cock, lavishing the shaft with twisted and long strokes of a tight fist.

“OHGODIAMCUMMING!!!”

Sherlock’s screaming words were true to the core and just a couple of seconds later John felt the sweet and familiar throb on his tongue. Sherlock’s hips canted up and off the mattress and John chased after him, continuing his ministrations, as he kneaded the soft but muscular thighs and the two fleshy globes of his ass. At one point Sherlock whined out so loud that John stopped for a moment and looked up at his lover in mild alarm. “You okay there babe? Did I hurt you or something?”

Sherlock turned his head sharply to one side and groaned. Then he forced John’s head downwards and gruffly replied, “Stop talking nonsense when I am about to _cum_ in your _mouth_ you slow, ignorant doctor.”

John grinned around his mouthful and kept up with the bobbing movements of his head, tightening his lips every time the blunt head passed through it. He felt Sherlock cum before he actually tasted the sweet juices. His body went completely stiff, he babbled nonsense, his grip on John’s blond hairs tightened to near painful proportions and his legs curled up. One of them landed on top of John’s buttocks and pushed down on it. The next moment Sherlock’s cries went through the roof and his seed spilled into John’s mouth. He was tasty that day, having mostly stayed off cigarettes and completely off substance and eaten proper meals and drunk enough water for the last two days. John relished the taste and kept licking the still hard cock till Sherlock pushed him off.

“Too much?” John asked, bringing his hand up to wipe his mouth.

“DON’T,” Sherlock sat up abruptly and grabbed John’s head, “Don’t you dare.”

He kissed John, sharing the taste of John’s mouth and his own seed. It was a strangely hot gesture and John felt his cock jumped between his legs. They kissed hard, John’s tongue tracing the ridge of Sherlock’s teeth before exploring the roof of his mouth.

Reluctantly John tore his mouth free after a while. Sherlock blinked at him, surprised.

“Too excited,” John said, “You want me to cum inside you, right?”

“Uhh-hnnn!”

“If you keep kissing me and grinding against me like this that isn’t gonna happen baby boy!”

Sherlock was so silent that John was seriously considering kissing him again, if only to stop him from pouting and emotionally blackmailing him for the next seven days, when the detective did something that set fire to John Watson’s veins, the fire of ravishing the gorgeous brunette lying spread out before him, beneath him, like butter over toast. He was so fuckable and the thing he had just whispered out…..

“Daddy!”

John growled out like an animal and dove downwards, pushing up Sherlock’s rear and exposing the pink and soft crack hidden between the pale globes. The muscles on them clenched.

John licked at the opening, sliding the tip of his tongue over the furled skin of the soft, tight opening. Sherlock’s response was spectacular, as always, and John knew he would never grew tired of it. The way the hips jerked and Sherlock’s legs went up in the air, hoarse cries spilling from him and encouraging John to ‘please deeper, Jawn, deeper please’, the good doctor could cum from those pleas and cries alone.

He swept the entire crack with the broad and flat of his tongue, waiting for the muscles to relax slightly, then _pushed the tip in by an inch_.

Sherlock howled and thrashed, babbled and moaned, while John loosened him up with his lips, tongue and his spit. It didn’t take too long as the detective was already a little loose from his earlier orgasm and by now he trusted John too much to tense up the pucker. Slowly his high pitched cries turned to softer moans and wails, his hands grabbing at John’s hair and naked shoulders (John wondered when he had shed his clothes, _he must have done_ that for he knew no magic, but he just couldn’t remember because he was completely focused on pleasuring his Sherlock). “J-Jawn, p-please, get inside me….I’m getting close again…ssssooo close, I need you inside me, fuck Jawn please…..!!”

John got up after a last nuzzling kiss to the now gaping open hole, moist redness showing him a glimpse of what awaited him deep inside, almost invitingly staring at him. Panting with lust, John lunged across the bed to grab the tube of jelly, warming it up between his palms before slathering it over his rock hard erection. He gasped when Sherlock’s hands joined him at those efforts, helping him smooth the vanilla and chocolate scented lube.

“Keep your touch light.”

“Too close?”

“You horny little bastard.”

“Give it to me _daddy_.”

John lay on top of Sherlock and pushed inside, hard as he could, moving the taller man a few inches on the mattress. Sensations swirled around in his head and he lost it in three thrusts, flooding Sherlock with his release and groaning out loud, hips moving through his orgasm.

Sherlock let out a small laughter of triumph. John looked up from his neck, eyes flashing fire. “I will teach you not to laugh at daddy!” With that he started to move his hips again, making Sherlock moan out loud again.

They went at it for a good twenty minutes, their initial needs satisfied and their bodies able to hold back the need to cum. But eventually too much of a good thing was _too much indeed_, and Sherlock began to approach a peak while John found his controls begin to slip fast.

“Daddy, please,” Sherlock clenched his ass deliberately, eyes wide, pupils fully blown with lust, his mouth open wide in a scream just begging to come out.

“Oh fuck, I love you so much,” John said breathlessly, thrusting harder and faster now, “My sweet little baby boy!”

They came together, something they often did, but the novelty of this simultaneous pleasure never wore off for them. Their eyes temporarily scrunched shut with ecstasy but opened again a split second later, light brown meeting green-blue, and they held each other’s gaze as the huge orgasm rolled over them. Shaking uncontrollably they came down from the high, clutching desperately at each other, exchanging heated kisses, panting breaths intermingling. John pulled out with a wince and Sherlock let out a soft yelp, his asshole clenching and his buttocks tightening. John grinned and shook his head, “I need some time to recover. _I am not as young as you are_, remember? Thirty-nine now!”

“No, not trying to keep you in.”

“Then.”

“It’s dripping out.”

“Oh….wait, I will wipe you clean.”

“Jawn….I meant it. Please, don’t leave, he’s here, _watching_ us.”

John looked at his debauched lover with wide eyes, not sure if Sherlock was joking or serious. “Baby boy,” he said with a hint of warning, “Not going to take you seriously if you’re going to start again with you ghosts and ghouls and Magnussen!!! I know Halloween is around the corner but we are not American and we are way too old for trick or treat.”

“Not joking, he is here, he was watching us. _He is asking for that again_.”

John paused, hand on Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock somehow didn’t seem to be teasing him with this. He appeared to be worried, even a bit scared. John had seen him in such situations enough number of times to know what was Sherlock’s style of kidding him and teasing him and when he was actually uncomfortable about something and wanted a serious discussion with John. “You really are seeing that fellow’s ghost? Where is he now?”

“Right next to you.”

John jumped. There was no one there. Still, John felt naked and quickly reached for the sheets.

“You can’t see him.”

Somehow John had started to believe him. He threw the covers over Sherlock’s naked, flushed body and quickly went to fetch them robes and towels. Once they had cleaned up and were wrapped in robes, John asked, “Okay, tell me since when has this been happening? I mean, since when have you been seeing that…..” He paused, choosing not to say anything nasty about the ghost because of obvious reasons, “Magnussen?”

“Few weeks now.”

Sherlock looked at the window and said, “He just left. Anyways, at first I thought I was hallucinating but as I thought about the situation, that I had neither used anything nor was I too tired or overworked, it occurred to me that whatever I was seeing was real. When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, _must be true_. So, I kept waiting, but he would appear and disappear and not do anything else. I was thinking he is here to hurt me in some way, to avenge his death, but when he did nothing as such I realized he had some unfinished business with me……which means he has something to tell me. I asked him and he gave me an answer.”

John’s eyes shot up to his hairline, “The ghost _talks_?”

“No. He wrote.”

“He _writes_?”

“Actually, I took help from one of my homeless network members, someone who is a good medium and can understand spirits and their messages. He said he was about to blackmail someone when I unwittingly killed him. He isn’t too upset he died, death has given him peace and he thinks I helped him in some odd, twisted manner. Okay, back to the topic, he said he wants me to complete the job he couldn’t.”

“Good Lord, what would that be?”

“_Blackmail that person and extort money from them_.”

“Who would that be? How will you do that? I mean, you are no blackmailer. You won’t even have that kind of dirt on anyone….would you? And even if you do, how are you going to carry out this activity? It is _not_ on the legal side.”

“Wait till you know _who_ he wants me to blackmail?” Sherlock seemed uncharacteristically nervous, quite against his normally confident, assured ways.

“I am almost afraid to ask, who?”

“Thomas Mycroft Chad Holmes!”


	2. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock pulls off a proper blackmail. 
> 
> Magnussen departs, satisfied.

“MYCROFT?” John almost fell off the bed, eyes bulging as he heard Sherlock take his elder sibling’s full name, “As in _our Mycroft_? Mike? Your brother the Mi6 and Mi5 chief, the most powerful man in England?”

“_How many Mycrofts do you exactly know_?” Sherlock said sarcastically, “Yes, the one and only. He says he won’t stop haunting me until and unless I blackmail Mycroft and take some money from him, at least a hundred grand or so.”

John did a facepalm. “This is a nightmare come true,” he quipped, getting up and pacing about, “Blackmail Mycroft? He is too clever a man to make a mistake. Even if he does leave a trail of breadcrumbs, he is too powerful and cunning to be blackmailed. And even if everything goes well, your mummy will have you hide if she finds out and Mycroft has been known to share information with her very tactfully so you get into trouble and face her wrath. Now, what other option do we have? Ignore Magnussen? I don’t think I am ready to live with ghosts and ghouls visiting this flat. He needs to be _sent off_.”

“Right,” Sherlock huffed, “How?”

“I don’t know, let me think….why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I-I didn’t think you’ll believe me.”

“Guess I deserve that judgment. I did disbelieve you initially but you must understand that this is such a freakish case that it’s hard to take it seriously.” John paused and tilted his head slightly, looking at Sherlock closely, “You are not doing this to rope me in for some nasty trick to be played on Mycroft? Is Jim Moriarty with you on this?”

“Leave him out of this,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Why?”

“_Why_? Have you forgotten that…..You’re the one who told me to stay away from him, even though he has gone legit now and is a tax-paying, law-abiding, Westwood clad, _cute and gorgeous and_…..I mean, he means no harm now, not anymore.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop talking to him,” John rolled his eyes, “He was showing up every day almost and whenever he didn’t, you’d go and see him. It was getting annoying and even Sebastian didn’t approve anymore. But now….I think he might be our biggest ally. Call him, don’t speak about the ghost or anything, just say you want to cause Mycroft some trouble. There is no love lost between them, so I think Jim might cooperate.”

“Jawn,” Sherlock’s eyes shone with delight, “_Sometimes_ you can be useful.”

***

“Sherlylocks, what’s so urgent? You’ve called me like ten times in an hour and sent twenty three texts.”

Jim’s voice was hushed and impatient, a trifle annoyed. Behind him Sherlock could hear several voices, there was a discussion going on. “Planning someone’s demise or is it a regular board meeting in one of your new companies?”

He could almost ‘hear’ the eyeroll from the other side. While Sherlock never really believed the former criminal mastermind, a most brilliant mathematician and scientist, could really give up crime totally, he had not seen any instances or evidence otherwise. But he still regularly joked and teased Jim about it. This time though, Jim was neither in the mood for jokes nor was he impressed by that line. “I am taking over a company, at a great price, and if I do not rejoin the meeting in thirty seconds Sebastian the Idiot will agree to a price that doesn’t make sense. So _unless_ you say your life is in danger and only I can save it, or you want sex behind John’s back, I am hanging up right away.”

“No, don’t…..”

“Sex or save life?”

“None….”

“Fuck you….no-no-no, Mr. Yamamoto, I didn’t mean you, I am just talking to my….my lab assistant, he is a bit of a nutter….yes-yes, arrigato….”

“When will you be free? _This will take time_.”

He heard a loud sigh from the other side as a collective cheer rose in the background. “Great, Sebby just agreed to a price that reduces my profit margin by 2%. Thanks to you, you persistent dumbass. I will come over to Baker Street in an hour. Meeting is done anyways.”

An hour later Jim sat on Sherlock’s chair, clad in a YSL suit in light blue and white, with a dark grey and steel grey striped tie, looking suave, dapper and attractive as ever. But there was a scowl on his face that told John and Sherlock that he could lose it anytime and unleash his fury on them. “The last time you got on my nerves I let loose 101 frogs in your flat,” the Irishman said, “This time I will do the same, only in this case it will be snakes instead of frogs.”

John gulped, “NO.”

“Hold on,” Sherlock said, “This _is_ a serious matter. It concerns Magnussen and that’s where I need your help.”

“Help? How? Like dig him up and clone him, then kill him again because you just love to hate that Dane?”

“Um….he is here.”

Sherlock began his story while John quietly sat and listened and observed. He also realized, much to his own chagrin, that Jim indeed had a lot in common with Sherlock and therefore it was no wonder that the two of them were attracted to each other like moths and flame or flies and honey. While John had his doubts and didn’t believe Sherlock upfront about the ghost story, Jim seemed to believe every word of the haunting. He even asked a few questions that made Sherlock think deeper, come up with answers, and soon John was like an invisible person who just happened to be sitting there, contributing to nothing. The two brilliant but cantankerous men had more or less forgotten his presence in the room.

“Blackmail Mycroft,” Jim tapped his chin, “Mmmmm!”

“Otherwise he won’t go,” Sherlock added, “He’s relentless.”

Jim turned and waved in the general direction of the room, “Hey Magsie!”

“Magsie???” John was aghast, “No need to antagonize the ghost.”

Jim ignored him, “Where is he exactly Sherly?”

Sherlock looked vaguely uncomfortable as he stared at his own hands, then at Jim, the out of the window. Jim frowned and turned towards the window, blinking at the open panes, “Is here there, by the window?” Sherlock shook his head and looked at John, then sheepishly added, “Ahem….He is standing right behind John and making faces at him, he’s saying John _still needs_ the ‘I was clueless and still am’ T shirt for himself.”

John muttered an expletive while Jim broke out into laughter. Sherlock bit his nails and feebly protested. Finally John commented, “I don’t see how this is helping. Fine, I am clueless, but right now so are both of you. Find a way to get rid of this ghoul, ghost, specter, whatever it is. I don’t know about you James but I sure don’t want those beady eyes watching us when we are in bed.”

The good doctor smirked, cherishing the rare moment when Jim seemed a bit flustered for a change. The Irishman cleared his throat, looked fixedly at the ceiling for some time, then a grin broke through his face. He leaned closer and looked at Sherlock with glee!

“_The private collection_!”

“You mean the one for his personal viewing pleasure?”

“Yup-Yup-Yup.”

“You mean that kind of thing really _exists_?”

“You bet,” Jim looked chuffed and smug as a Persian cat fluffing his fur, “Mr. Holmes the Iceman is not as immune to pleasures and ‘base needs’ as he calls them with disdain. He doesn’t want the hassle of a relationship and sex without strings attached can be difficult to obtain when you’re such a powerful, wealthy and well-known man. So he has chosen self-service, in other words using his right hand for company and dozens of discreetly and secretly recorded sex tapes. He relishes the private moments of several victims who had no idea their romps in bed or masturbating moments in the bathroom have been captured and are frequently replayed by the chief of Mi6, the solitude of his home theater. Well, not judging, but this is gold.”

“If it is so, and I do agree it is so, why did you not leverage this for your own benefit?” John asked curiously. _One must never trust Jim without a little probing_.

“Simple, he has three tapes of mine and Seb.”

“Ah.”

“What ah? If you get your hands on the collection, _I want those tapes back_. That will be my payment for this information I just passed on to you.”

***

_Three days._

It took only three days for the job to get done.

John watched and participated with awe and wonder in his eyes, a small satisfied smile on his lips and a heart that was bursting with love and admiration for his partner, as Sherlock Holmes used his deductive reasoning to not only locate the ‘private collection’ but also steal the three tapes Jim had spoken of. At the same time he managed to get some evidence which showed the collection as Mycroft’s and the fact that he often used his for his ‘entertainment’.

On the fourth day, the day of Halloween, Mycroft was sitting on the chair John usually occupied and engaged in what the good doctor called a ‘staring match’ with his brother Sherlock. Getting decidedly uneasy, John had headed off to the kitchen to make some tea.

Suddenly he heard Mycroft speak with uncharacteristic sharpness, “This was unnecessary.”

“What was?” That was Sherlock’s nonchalant reply.

“If you needed money all you had to do was _ask._ Have you forgotten that I am the one who gave you your pocket allowance for the month ever since you turned sixteen? You kept taking that money from me, with a 10% increase every year, until you turned twenty eight and started living with John.”

John quickly came back with the tea. This was too interesting a topic to miss. He handed Mycroft his cup and the reptilian smile that was flashed at him made his hands shake. Mycroft was clearly angry, livid in fact, but had his mask of composure on as always.

Sherlock was clearly unaffected by it because he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea calmly. This time, when he spoke, he sounded cooler than even Mycroft did. “Well, it seems my work multiplied since John came in, he started sharing the household expenses and therefore I was no longer in need of your charity. Which was _never really a charity_, if you ask me. Our grandparents gave both of us significant sums of money but you kept my share with yourself lest I spend it on drugs. You even got mummy to agree with this. So technically, you had been giving me back _my money_ in obscenely small instalments. Why should I ask for what is rightfully mine?”

John loved the way Mycroft seemed to be at a loss of words.

Sherlock continued, “In the last seven years I have been earning significant sums of money from some of my wealthy clients. Mummy and daddy have given me a flat in Finchley and a cottage in East Grove, part of my inheritance, and I am quite flush right now with John also working as a surgeon. But what is mine is mine, you need to give me my share of inheritance that our grandparents left for us nearly sixteen years ago.”

Mycroft’s face tightened. “If I hear you’ve given it away to your homeless network or spent it buying a yacht because Jim has one, or you’re using again…..”

“Before you threaten, do remember I have a video of you having fun with a gay royal’s shower pics and videos of a famous actor in bed with a male and a female prostitute.”

“How dare…..?”

“You know I do. One who dares once will dare again. How will mummy feel when she knows?”

“No, NO. Not mummy. Don’t you bring her into this.”

“Won’t. But the choice is yours now, for the ball is in your court, and the decision lies solely with you blah-blah-blah.”

John braced himself for a showdown or more sarcasm and threats to fly. Though the brothers never lost an opportunity to poke each other and provoke each other, he knew deep down there was love and there was a constant need to have each other’s backs. He wasn’t sure Mycroft would even take the threat seriously. If he didn’t Magnussen wouldn’t leave and their flat would be haunted forever. A shudder ran down John’s spine as he thought about that.

Sherlock was staring between Mycroft and the mantelpiece and John realized that was because Magnussen would be hovering there. He swiftly moved to the other end of the room with his cup of tea.

“You secretly video recorded me,” Mycroft had suddenly regained his calm composure and was speaking in his usual polished manner again, “Which is preposterous and was totally uncalled for. I am sure mummy will tell you the same thing if you threaten to expose me before her. But I suppose your excuse will be ‘That’s how you got my collection Mike, by secretly planting cameras in people’s home and hotel rooms’. Let me remind you though, those people had a _good reason to be recorded_. Sometimes you have to play fire with fire, you need incriminating evidence in your possession as an insurance if you want to tackle some of those big troublemakers out there. Whatever I do with this collection, which is with me for safekeeping and to prevent any misuse, is classified information and no one will ever support you should you make an issue of it.”

John sighed. Of course this wasn’t going to work. Who was he kidding? This was Mycroft Holmes, not some random government official. This shark had eaten plenty of other fish to ensure his safe and healthy existence. Blackmailing him had been a very stupid idea indeed. He looked at Sherlock who also glanced back at him and they both knew this was slipping through their fingers really fast.

“However,” Mycroft continued, looking all haughty and unaffected, “I suppose you already are managing a significant sum of money and two properties on your own and I have not heard of any bad investments or speculations and gambling, no report of you _using_.”

“You mean to say you’re agreeing?”

“Nine hundred and seventy thousand principal sum and an accumulated interest of three hundred and forty two thousand. About a million and three hundred it will be. Take it. But I want the evidence to be returned, as is. If you have removed anything or made a copy….”

“Give back the three videos you have of Jim and Sebastian.”

Realization dawned on Mycroft’s face as he heard the first name. “That evil imp was behind this all along. I should have known. Fine, take it, in any case watching him only makes me feel like a loser…..” as if he had spoken too much, Mycroft abruptly stood up and took out his phone, “I have five more minutes. Let’s conclude this.”

If John and Sherlock had question marks in their minds about Mycroft’s comment on Jim, they let it pass. Some things were better left unexplained and unexplored.

***

“Fuck, yeah,” Sherlock’s hands smacked on the sides of the chair he usually sat on, except that this time around he wasn’t sitting on it but bent over it, naked from waist downwards and the front of his robe mostly open to allow John to play with his nipples.

“Hit the right spot again did I?” John slapped the lily white arse cheeks which had turned rosy from the occasional smacks from John’s palms, “Got you there did I not? That sweet little spot that makes you go all noisy and needy!”

As if to prove his point he slammed in again, hitting the prostate and Sherlock screamed. His arse clenched with pleasure and John felt some of the sperm he had deposited there begin to drip out and down the detective’s long legs. The chair was stained on the side Sherlock was bent over, as was the rug beneath their feet. Sherlock had cum twice already and John had cum once, all the dripping juices splattered over the upholstery and rug a symbol of their limitless passion. “G-Gonna cum again,” Sherlock suddenly stiffened up and John hand dipped between his open and spread legs to grab the throbbing member, “But-But….st-stop after that…..I,uh, my arse is…..ohhhh, it is burning Jawn!”

“Whose idea was it to watch Jim and Seb’s videos before returning those to them?” John asked with mock anger and accusation, though he and Sherlock both knew he didn’t mean it. In fact, they had loved watching the videos, kinky hot criminal sex was a great way to get aroused.

When Sherlock tightened hard around him and shot his load over John’s fingers, the doctor swiftly followed with a low growl, pouring out whatever he had left into the still spasming arse. He collapsed on the chair with Sherlock in his lap, both half-dressed, panting and dazed.

“I’m proud of the way you blackmailed Mycroft without truly threatening or harming him and how you took back what was yours to begin with,” John said between breathless gasps, “You didn’t really fleece him or damage him in any way.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to, not without damaging the family reputation,” Sherlock accepted, trying to light a cigarette but too shaken by afterglow to get the coordination correct, “I also think he has a justified reason to keep that collection, even if it seems immoral. The work he does demands some peculiar things, this might be one of them. Even J Edgar Hoover had such a collection.”

Sherlock’s phone suddenly pinged. As he feebly reached out for it, John caught a glimpse of the unread message on the screen. It was from the Standard Chartered bank, indicating a transfer of funds from Mycroft Holmes.

It was at that very moment that John also saw him. Charles Augustus Magnussen. He looked the same as he did when the sleaze ball was alive. A cold fish with beady eyes behind those glasses, cruel curve to his mouth and an overall evil aura which screamed ‘Don’t mess with me’. As a ghost he only seemed partially transparent, otherwise he was the same slippery character, from top to toe. “He’s here,” Sherlock closed his robe, eyes on the doorway.

“I know, I can _see_ him this time,” John answered, pulling his pants up. For some reason he didn’t feel as spooked as he thought he would.

Magnussen’s lips slowly curved into a smile and he seemed to say something, which neither man could hear nor understand. Then the deceased blackmailer pointed at Sherlock’s phone and showed them the thumbs-up sign. He was clearly pleased that the job was done to his liking. He had also indulged himself with one last blackmail before he departed, and in one swift throw of the stone he had hit two birds – The Holmes brothers. He seemed happy, at peace and his outlines seemed to be getting smoky, misty, blurry. Soon his entire form crumbled and the figure just went ‘poof’ as if he was nothing more than a figment of their imagination. The only indication of his departure was a _flutter_ in the curtain and the room getting significantly _warmer_ over the next ten seconds.

“He’s gone,” Sherlock finally lit his cigarette.

“Yeah, so he has,” John replied, “Happy Halloween Sherlock.”

“Happy Halloween John. Now please run down to the store and get me candy. I have cravings.”

Twenty minutes later a hurriedly dressed and grinning John was doing _just that_, hotfooting to the nearest candy store to buy some sweeties for his lover. Some things would never change and he was actually glad about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN

**Author's Note:**

> Next part will be up on Halloween day! Happy Halloween in advance folks!
> 
> Sorrynotsorry for the mindless and somewhat unnecessary smut (wait, smut is never unnecessary, is it!!!)


End file.
